


Right from the Start

by dattumblrgal



Category: One Direction (Band), The Infernal Devices Series - Cassandra Clare, Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Coming of Age, Consensual Underage Sex, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Underage Drinking, YOU DONT NEED TO READ THE INFERNAL DEVICES TO UNDERSTAND THIS!! just a psa, harry is jessamine's older brother, it's only mentioned, the timeline starts in 1873, there's a demon, zayn is french
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-27 01:40:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10799064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dattumblrgal/pseuds/dattumblrgal
Summary: “Stop for a minute,” Harry says when they’re on a sidewalk overlooking the Thames, “look how beautiful the moon is tonight. God, I wish I was better at writing poetry, not just reading it. It’s so lovely tonight I could write a hundred sonnets,” he’s looking up on the sky, snowflakes getting caught in his hair and eyelashes.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is the first chapter of my Zarry tid au. I haven't seen any Zarry fan fiction, in which they're Shadowhunters, so I decided to write one myself. Almost no one asked for this, but here we are because I'm too self indulgent for my own good. 
> 
> A big thank you to Sherry, for the enthusiasm, the cover and the beautiful trailer.
> 
> !!! You don't need to read The Infernal Devices to understand the story !!!

            **Watch the trailer[HERE](http://imlivingonawire.tumblr.com/post/160249766923/right-from-the-start-55k-chapter-%C2%BC)**

 

             It was a gloomy morning when Zayn finally arrived in London. Travelling alone when you’re fourteen isn’t the most entertaining thing in the universe. Especially when your final destination is trying to deepen your sullen mood with rain and no sunshine. Paris was so lovely when he was getting on the train, luminous and warm, lifting up spirits with something as simple as the rays of sun. The only thing keeping Zayn from hating London completely is his best friend, Jem. He’s the reason Zayn’s here after all. Not even this somber city can discourage him to not come to Jem. When Zayn found out about the horrors that happened to Jem and his family, and that Jem’s coming to live in the London Institute, he knew what to do. Almost immediately, he asked his parents to let him come to London as well. At first, they were reluctant. Why would he, a fourteen-year-old boy who has a loving family and a home, want to go abroad just because of his friend?

            Eventually, after Zayn hadn’t spoken to them for about a week, they realized how inconsiderate and insensitive they were. Jem isn’t just any friend. He doesn’t have anyone, except for his uncle, who doesn’t want to raise him. A friend he can trust, could help him deal with the loss of his parents. They wanted to send Zayn to some other Institute for a few months anyway, so, they let him go.

            The Institute is so far, the most interesting thing Zayn has seen in London. It looks over the dull grey townhouses, all of its glory hidden to the mundane eye. It’s beautiful, the ordinary but imposing and decorative architecture has a certain charm that only Institutes and churches have.

            The carriage parks in front of the massive, heavy looking Institute door. Zayn steps out and breaths in the tarnish London air. Every single city in the world is not pleasant for the nose. Paris, Shanghai, and London being no different. Zayn kind of misses the fresh sea breeze and the smell of countryside from his journey to London. It’s been quite some time since he last visited England. It takes too long to travel from France just to see some old relatives he barely knows.

            He opens the door himself. It lets him in, like it would let anyone else with angel blood in their veins.  

            “Hello?” he calls out, “is anyone there?”. No answer. Looking around the ground floor, Zayn finds nothing intriguing, save for some swords on the walls and a few sets of big wooden doors. This isn’t his first visit in the Institute, but he doesn’t actually remember which door leads where. There may be a dining room and a kitchen to his right, thought. Instead of finding out whether he’s right or wrong, Zayn decides to go upstairs. No sounds are indicating that someone’s downstairs, so he might as well try his luck somewhere else. Have they forgotten he was supposed to arrive today? No, that can’t be the case, since he was picked up at King’s Cross by the Institute’s driver. Maybe everyone’s still asleep. Who knows? Zayn doesn’t for sure.

            Zayn climbs up the stairs and finds himself in a wide and long corridor, decorated with tapestries depicting various events from the Shadowhunter mythology. It’s dimly lit with witchlight. The lack of carpeting on the stone floor results in noisy clicking of his shoes.

            “Hello? I know someone’s here; the Institute can’t be left unguarded! Are you hiding from me?” Zayn admits to himself that that was a bit too theatrical, but it’s annoying him. He never liked pranks anyway. Playing tricks is for children. He’s fourteen now – too old for tricks.

            “Who are you?” a voice asks. It’s a little high and would sound changelessly excited if it weren’t laced with so much irritation. Zayn knows he’s most likely the source for that. He turns around and sees a figure poking out one of the many doors in the corridor, “And why are you yelling bloody murder around here? It’s 8 o’clock in the morning, have you been raised by apes?” The figure steps out into the white glow of witchlight and Zayn finally sees the person. It’s a boy, probably around his age, with a mop of chocolate curly hair. He’s wearing silky-looking pyjamas and a frown.

            “It’s a perfectly acceptable time to be awake,” Zayn crosses his arms and looks at the boy properly, “and obviously, I am not the one raised by apes, because I’m not asleep when there are guests coming.” The boy just glares at Zayn, starting a staring war.

            “You didn’t answer my question. You’re running around the Institute, yelling like a madman. Who are you?” The lad doesn’t get his answer, because he’s interrupted by Jem coming out of a room few doors down.

            “Zayn! You’re finally here!” Jem has a soft smile on his lips. He comes to Zayn and hugs him. Zayn just smiles and hugs Jem back really tight. It’s been a few months since they last saw each other back in Shanghai. Instead of overwhelming him with question whether he’s okay and how he’s dealing with the death of his parents and his own near-death experience, Zayn just starts chatting about ordinary things. Zayn knows he needs to be Jem’s old friend, not a stranger acting like Jem’s made out of porcelain. After everything that had happened, Jem wrote him a letter, saying he felt sick of people treating him like something broken, someone not even properly alive. So, Zayn tells him about his older sister and his friends in Paris. He mentions his ancient teacher, because the stories always used to make Jem laugh. Zayn asks a bit about London, not being sure if Jem’s dealing with the change well enough. After a bit of catching up, the boy still standing in the corridor makes himself known by clearing his throat.

            “Oh, pardon me. Zayn, this is Harry. He lives here as well. I hope he wasn’t being too rude,”

            “Pardon me, but I’m always perfectly gallant, James,” the boy, Harry, suddenly very calm, sticks his hand out for a handshake, “I’m Harry. I suppose it’s nice to meet you. These aren’t the best circumstances, I would’ve dressed myself properly if I knew you were coming this early,” Zayn, despite Harry’s assumptions, wasn’t raised by animals so he accepts it and shakes Harry’s hand.

            “It’s quite alright, Harry,” Zayn turns back to Jem, “where is everyone anyway? You know what? I don’t care. Come and show me around. I don’t wanna get lost in this place,” if Zayn notices a flash of hurt and offense on Harry’s face as he leaves with Jem, he doesn’t mention it.

°°

            Living at the Institute turns out to be better than Zayn had ever anticipated. After Jem had shown him the basic parts of the Institute – bedrooms, library, dining room, the kitchen and the training room – he met the other residents. First, he met Will. He was sarcastic and kind of distant, a smirk on his lips with everything he said. Zayn would’ve said he’s an arse, but Jem insisted Will’s actually a great friend to him. That, thankfully, was proved to be true. After some time spent together training and studying, Zayn could see a tiny bit of friendship forming between himself and Will.

            After that, he met Jessamine. At first, she was quite unpleasant, complaining about another boy coming to the Institute: “Why can’t girls come here sometimes? Oh, I know. Because it’s miserable in here. No girl would want to live in this place.” He learned that she’s Harry’s younger sister and they’re both exactly the same – mean, whiny and the complete opposite of who a Shadowhunter should be. Her tongue has its own will, apparently, because a few days after knowing Zayn, she told him she’d want to marry him, if he weren’t a Shadowhunter. Said he’s pretty, _much_ nicer than Will and from a good family. Good, in Jessamine talk, meant rich.

            Charlotte, the head of the Institute, is incredibly sweet. When he first saw her, Zayn couldn’t believe she was running the place and was already married. She looked especially young. Nonetheless, she’s a great teacher. Their classes in the library are not as boring as they were with Zayn’s teachers in Paris. Sometimes he finds himself struggling with some of the translated English words, since he previously learned them in French, but he manages.

            Her husband, Henry, is quite the case. He’s always in the crypt working on some invention of his. There’s a lot of explosion and fire, though. Everyone’s pretty calm about it, as though they don’t care about Henry’s life and well-being. Naturally, Zayn asked Jem about it, but he just dismissed it with: “That’s Henry. You’ll see, he’s always fine after all. Charlotte wouldn’t let him wisp his life away with his unfortunate inventions.”

            Harry, on the other hand…is probably the most unpleasant person Zayn has ever met. He is just awfully aggravating and everything he does seems to be only to make Zayn’s life at the Institute more difficult. It didn’t take a long time for Harry to find out what things irritate Zayn the most. First of them, is being a pain in the arse during training. The Angel hates Zayn, he’s pretty sure of it, because most of the time he’s paired with Harry during their training lessons. It’s logical, yes, since they’re both two years older than Jem and Will. It would be perfectly alright if Harry didn’t train like a three-year-old child. Just like Jessamine, he hates being a Shadowhunter and he’s pretty vocal about it. He was never raised that way, since his parents preferred tea parties and fancy galas to hunting demons at night. He knows the basics, obviously, but even the Angel himself couldn’t make him try and learn something more. Throwing daggers? “No, thank you. It’s pointless. Who would ever save their life by throwing a dagger?”. Swords? “Please, what century is this? Besides, what are seraph blades for?”. And that goes on and on.

            Zayn’s trying really hard to be friendly, he does, but sometimes it’s impossible. Harry’s mean comments are vicious, not just sarcastic like Will’s. Even Jessamine isn’t that rude. He’s just impossible.

            Even after months of living in the Institute, Zayn just can’t figure Harry out. No one really does, except for Jessie. Harry’s very protective of her and they do almost everything together. Most of the time it’s judging everyone and everything around them. The thing that makes Zayn the most upset is that Harry’s colder to him than he is to Will and Jem. Well, colder is a very light word for it. Zayn thinks Harry despises him. He’s always outright nasty and malicious to him, taking every opportunity to be rude to Zayn and to try and provoke him into a long session of bickering. It’s a bit less frequent lately, because Zayn had started to just ignore Harry’s attempts to fight, but it used to be disastrous.

            For some time, Zayn was rude to Harry right back. During training, they spent more time quarrelling than actually working on their fighting techniques. Spiteful words were flying back and forth between them, each more and more hateful. Their usual conversations while they were training used to go something like this:

            _“Zayn, stop trying to cut my head off with your sword!”_

_“I’m not trying to cut your head off! We’re training, so you learn how to defend yourself and someone else can’t do to you what you’re accusing me of doing right now!”_

_“Well, you should try practicing your cutting-off-heads maneuvers on the dummy instead of on me! Every single lesson we have, you’re just doing everything you can to hurt me, kill me or cut a limb off of me!”_

_“Je m’en fiche! You’re always doing this instead of training. I’ve never tried to hurt you in any way! That’s just how you train. And arguing your way out of a demon attack isn’t going to help you. Just so you know, I definitely won’t be there to save you!”_

_“I’m more than alright with that. I’m not a damsel in distress, I don’t need your saving.”_

_“Va te faire foutre!”_

_“Curse at me in French all you want, it won’t change the fact that you’re a madman and you’re on a mission to take my life!”_

            All of those arguments usually ended with Harry throwing his weapon on the floor and stomping out of the training room. He always made quite the dramatic exit; smashing the door shut so hard, people in Scotland probably heard it.

            Their fighting during lessons with Charlotte was a bit more subdued, because neither of them wanted to make her upset with their hostility. Charlotte didn’t have any knowledge about them passing out notes with witty insults and passive aggressive comments, though.

            They used to annoy everyone, mainly Will and Jem. Being in a room together without spitting out a nasty word at one another wasn’t possible. Zayn has no idea why Harry was like that, still is to some extent. Not knowing the reason behind Harry’s behaviour drives Zayn nearly crazy. Their first meeting wasn’t exactly perfect, but that can’t be it. Zayn did try to be nice to Harry from the begging, but continuing to do so was impossible. He just hopes they can be friends one day.

           °°

            Zayn’s bored. Not just bored, as in looking for a different thing to do instead of moping around. Bored, the kind where you try _absolutely everything_ and you’re still bored. The kind when nothing is satisfying enough to cure your boredom. Jem and Will are having a lesson with Charlotte, a demon language Zayn had already studied with his teacher, so he can’t do something fun with them. Going to Henry’s crypt sounds like more danger than it’s worth, so he avoids that. Polishing weapons with Thomas is the epitome of death of boredom. Jessamine and Harry’s company is a suicide. Finding entertainment with inanimate objects is a much better option than that. Zayn tried books first, but there was nothing compelling enough to read. He has already read all the books he’s interested in and has no desire to find and try something new.

            That’s how Zayn finds himself in front of the door of the training room. He figured a bit of practicing can never be a useless thing to do. Besides, he wanted to work on his knife throwing anyway. He’s got to beat Jem the next time they have a meaningless, friendly kind of competition, just to show off.

            When Zayn opens the door, he finds another person doing exactly what he intended to do. It’s not unusual to find someone else training here alone, it’s the Institute after all. Most of the time it’s Will Zayn finds here on his own, his back facing the door, daggers flying from his hand. This time, Harry’s the person doing the exact same thing. More slowly and with less precision, but still.

            “By the Angel, am I seeing this right? Harry, is that you? Or is it your good twin, since you’re the evil one?” Harry spins around, a dagger falling out of his hand. The terrified look on his face and wide eyes would make one think he were caught doing something against the Law.

            “Oh God, what are you doing here? I thought you were Jessie. Weren’t you supposed to study with Will and Jem?” Harry asks sloppily, his voice shaking a bit, eyes avoiding Zayn’s gaze. He bends down to collect his dagger and throws it. It misses not only the bull’s eye, but the target as well. Zayn scoffs, takes his own daggers from the wall and stands beside Harry.

            “No,” Zayn adjusts his stance and aims, “weren’t you?” he throws the dagger. It nearly hits the bull’s eye. Harry makes an unimpressed sound.

            “If you came here only to mock me and make fun of me, you can leave. I’m not in the mood for this,” Zayn looks at Harry, confused. Harry, not in a mood to fight someone, using words and glances instead of seraph blades and swords? That doesn’t sound like the Harry Zayn has known for almost a year now.

            After a moment of confusion, Zayn really looks at Harry and notices something. Harry’s face is slightly red, eyes puffy and bloodshot. If he’s not wrong, it looks like Harry might have been crying. When Harry realises Zayn’s staring at his eyes, he averts his face to the floor. The gesture is something no one would commonly associate with Harry. His bright green eyes are always firmly set on people, gaze bold and daring. Harry stares people straight in the eye, even unpleasant ones like the Consul, who terrifies even Charlotte. Something must be wrong.

            “Harry…I’m sorry. I didn’t make fun of you, or mock you,” Zayn does something only Jessie and Charlotte are brave enough to do – he puts a hand on Harry’s arm, “Are you alright? I didn’t make you upset, did I?” Zayn heart beats loud in his chest, anxiety rising. What could’ve made Harry this upset?

            “You think too much of yourself,” Harry scoffs and brushes Zayn’s hand off, “you couldn’t make me upset even if you tried,” Zayn feels as if a weight was lifted of his chest. Harry’s still his usual mean, arrogant and witty self, that’s a good sign. They’re both quiet for a moment, the only sound in the room being the creaky wooden floors under Harry’s feet when he goes to collect the daggers. He hesitates to come back to where Zayn’s standing, looks at the floor and shifts the weapons in his hands.

            “It’s just...” Harry speaks up when he’s just about three steps away from Zayn. His curls are making a curtain in front of his face, denying Zayn seeing his expression, “I wish I was better at this whole…Shadowhunting business. Jessie still hates it, but I’ve taken a liking to it since we’ve moved here. It’s in my blood after all,” Harry sits down on the bench lining the wall to their right. He sighs and continues, “seeing you, Will and Jem being wonderful during training makes me upset sometimes. I’ve never gotten the training you had and there’s no one to teach me more. You three don’t need extra help, I do. So, I’m here. It’s not really working, though,” Harry looks like a kicked puppy on the bench. All his viciousness and frightening attitude suddenly gone. His eyes look dull, kind of empty, the usual vibrant green now muted. He just seems… exhausted. Miserable, even. All there’s left is a Shadowhunter, that doesn’t feel like he’s good enough.

            Zayn sits down and tries to catch Harry’s eyes with his gaze. To his surprise, Harry stares back and doesn’t hang is head down, eyes gazing at Zayn’s instead of the floor.

            “Will didn’t have Shadowhunting training as well and look how good he is now. Like you said, we’re Shadowhunters, it’s in our blood. You can learn. I just wonder, why don’t you want to train during our lessons with the others? All you do is bicker with me, and you always leave early. You could’ve been so much better already if you just had worked harder when you were supposed to,” Harry averts his face to the floor again. He’s silent for some time and Zayn starts to get worried he offended Harry, before he notices the rosiness creeping up on Harry’s cheeks. Maybe it’s just the lighting, but Zayn swears Harry is blushing. He probably would’ve smiled at that, if the reasons behind it wasn’t most likely embarrassment.

            “It’s because of Jessie. She’s here with us when we train, so she sees everything and I don’t want to let her down. I promised her I wouldn’t waste my time on training and learning Shadowhunter things and that I’d leave when I turn eighteen, make a name for myself and take care of her until she marries some wealthy mundane. You have no idea how much she despises Shadowhunters. If she knew I liked this, enjoyed fighting and weapons, she would probably hate me too,” there’s a single tear rolling down Harry’s cheeks and he’s staring at the daggers in his hands. Zayn suddenly feels his heart break a little for him. Having a sister himself, an older one, but still, Zayn knows how Harry feels. It’s your sibling, your blood, of course you’d do anything for them. He can’t imagine how Harry must feel, being the only family Jessamine has left.

            “Harry, listen to me,” Zayn grabs Harry’s shoulder. Harry lifts up his gaze from his hands and looks into Zayn’s eyes, “Jessie will love you no matter what. She’s stubborn, but you’re her brother. You can’t completely dismiss your own happiness. I understand what you want to do for her, but how will you if you’re miserable? Jessie will probably never want to be a proper Shadowhunter, but you can. She will find a husband and you can help her with that, perhaps. But think about your life after she gets married. You will be secluded from the Clave and she’ll be married to someone, trying to build a family on her own. What will you do? Marry some mundane and yearn for Shadowhunting until you die?”

            “I-I don’t know. I never really thought about it like that. I just want to make her happy,” Harry looks at Zayn with desperation in his eyes. There are tear streaks on Harry’s cheeks and Zayn’s aching to wipe them. He scarps that thought right as it appears in his head. What is he thinking? He can’t do that, it would be more than strange.

            “You will. I’m not pressuring you into anything, but you need to find a place for your own happiness. Living at the expense of someone else’s happiness isn’t really living,” Harry takes a deep breath. The worry in his face makes him look so much older right now.

            “Alright. What should I do then?” Harry wipes the tear streaks himself and schools his expression into a softer version of his ordinary cold one.

            Zayn gives him a mischievous smirk, “what should _we_ do,” he takes the daggers out of Harry’s hands and stands up, “we train,” Harry gets to his feet as well, but nothing about him indicates that he’s sure about this or even likes the idea. He takes a few small hesitant steps, getting closer to where Zayn’s standing, already in a good positing in front of the big target on the opposite wall.

            “Are you trying to trick me right now? Why would you want to help me?” Harry asks, gaze suddenly harsh and cold. He crosses his arms in front of his chest, not coming any closer.

            “I’m not your enemy, Harry. You’re unhappy and I’m trying to help you. Stop giving me that look, we’re fifteen, not four. We’re almost men. Now, take your daggers and let’s train. You said it yourself, you need it.” There’s a clear look of distrust in Harry’s eyes, his shoulders set. He looks like a cat ready to attack. In moments like this, Zayn wished he and Harry were friends, just like Will and Jem. This coldness seeping from Harry is upsetting him, more than he likes to admit to himself.

            After a few more seconds of resembling an angry cat, Harry’s face softens a bit and his shoulders visibly relax. Zayn takes that as an agreement.

            “This doesn’t mean we’re friends,” Harry mutters, “and if you tell anyone about this, I will slit your throat while you’re asleep,” he comes to stand next to Zayn, taking some draggers out of Zayn’s right hand. Harry sets his gaze on the target, effectively ending the conversation between them.

            “Whatever makes you happy, Harry,” Zayn laughs and shifts the daggers from his left hand into his dominant one. He watches Harry out of the corner of his eye. Harry’s clearly uneasy, looking at his shoes, curls falling into his face. This new side of Harry, gentle and vulnerable, is very intriguing. He seems almost like a whole different person. His features somehow appear softer, eyes mellow. Zayn likes this Harry way more than the Harry with snarky comments and always-up-for-an-argument attitude. Suddenly, Harry turns his face and catches Zayn staring at him.

            “Did you want to teach me something, or just stare at me? I haven’t got all day.”

            “Stare at you? You do that enough yourself, princess. Now, show me what you know and we will continue from there.”

°°

            That day at the training room changes a lot of things. Harry’s still as annoying as ever, still takes too much liking in their bickering. He doesn’t train the way he should during their lessons with Jem and Will yet, but he gradually does a bit more during each one. Harry said it would be better if he didn’t tell Jessamine about his love for Shadowhunting just out of the blue, but slowly did more and more of the “Shadowhunting things” Jessie hates so much. Zayn’s okay with it, Harry knows Jessie better than anyone, he knows how to do this.

            They train a lot, just the two of them. It’s usually when Jem and Will have lessons without them, or late in the evening. Harry’s really hardworking – once he put his mind to it, everything they did during their secret training was better than anything he’s done during all of their collective training sessions. Zayn couldn’t believe it at first, but Harry’s a pretty good Shadowhunter. Of course, he’s got moments when every move he does could get him killed when there are demons around. Despite that, Harry’s Shadowhunter grace and ease with weapons is digging out from wherever he had buried it. He’s asking Zayn to practice with all the weapons they’ve got – seraph blades, swords, daggers, crossbows, axes, bows – and Harry’s getting better with each one of them. Zayn is really proud of him, not that he would admit it to anyone.

            Alongside with Harry’s skills, there’s a sliver of friendship forming between them. Harry talks a bit more about things when they’re alone, he lets his guard down a bit. He’s not open with Zayn by any means, but sometimes after they’re done training, they sit around in the training room talking or even playing cards. There’s a silent agreement between them, basically saying Zayn doesn’t get to ask any questions about Harry’s family. Zayn is alright with that. He had tried to ask about his parents once, which resulted in Harry not speaking to him for almost a week. Zayn is happy enough with the easy casual friendship that exists between them now.

°°

            Summer quickly shifts into autumn and then autumn into winter. Before Zayn realizes it, he’s been in London for a year and half without seeing his family once. He misses them, of course, but it’s a bit easier with the people he’s got in the Institute. Forming a friendship with Will wasn’t so hard. They’re not as close as Will is with Jem, but Zayn’s glad he isn’t being the way with him he is with Jessamine. Speaking of which, she’s just the same as she was when Zayn arrived. Still hates Shadowhunters and still barely talks about meaningful thing with someone other than Harry.

            A year and half is probably too much time for Zayn’s mum, that’s why she basically ordered him to come home for three months. Zayn happily obliged. Christmas at home with his family will be better than any present he could ever get. He can’t wait to see his sister. Apparently, she’s getting married to some Spaniard. Even she herself in her letters couldn’t explain how it had happened. Zayn misses his friends in Paris. Everyone at the Institute is perfectly nice, but he’s thrilled to celebrate his 16th birthday with his old friends. Nightlife in Paris is so much better than in London. Most of his older cousins and friends have been sharing stories about their 16th birthday celebrations for years. Tales about their nights filled with alcohol and beautiful girls always sounded like a dream. Zayn can’t wait for his own night, full of things his parents have forbade him multiple times.

            December 14th is Zayn’s last day at the Institute until March. The morning is no different from any other day, but in the afternoon, everyone’s saying their goodbyes to him and they all eat chocolate cake in the drawing room. The most upset people seem to be Charlotte and Jem, both of them treathening him with various things in case he doesn’t come back in springs. Henry and Will hug him, wish him a pleasant journey and a happy birthday in January. Harry and Jessamine seem unbothered as always. Zayn acts like Harry’s straight face with no emotions isn’t affecting him at all.

            At night, when everyone seems to be asleep, Zayn sneaks into the drawing room. It might seem a bit weird, since he’s not there for any mischief, but rather to put there the Christmas presents he got for everyone. It’s still early for them, but he didn’t want to send them or leave them with someone until Christmas morning.

            The room is almost pitch dark when Zayn steps inside, the only light coming from the moon outside. There’s already a Christmas tree stood up in one corner. He balances all the gifts in his hands, squats down and carefully lays them down. Zayn really hopes they’ll like what he got them. He thought about it for so long- whether to get them something or not, and he decided to do so. It’s a nice gesture. After all, Christmas should be about giving out love and being generous.

            On his way back to his bedroom, he sees light peeking out from the gap between the floor and library door. Probably only because humans have curious nature, Zayn chooses to find out who’s the person haunting the library at this ungodly hour. He cracks the door open, not stepping inside just yet, in case there’s happening something he’s not supposed to see. One should always be careful at night. He doesn’t see anyone seated behind the long table in the centre of the room, but there’s a person sitting by the window. Said person being none other than Harry. He’s got his legs drawn close to his chest, a book laid on his knees. There are some candles lit around the room and a witchlight stone on a chair near him. He looks very engrossed in reading, not noticing the door opening, Zayn coming inside and walking almost to where Harry’s seated. Instead of touching Harry’s shoulder or knee, which would only startle him, Zayn announces his presence in the room with a simple “Hello.”

            Harry jumps and the book falls from his legs. He huffs and glares at Zayn, “what are you doing here? Do you have any idea how much you just scared me? I thought you were Charlotte, coming here to lecture me about staying up late to read,” he bends down to pick up his book as Zayn sits down on the opposite side of the bench.

            “I’m sorry. Scaring you wasn’t my intention,” Harry goes back to his book, almost entirely ignoring Zayn. After reading the author and title of Harry’s book, Zayn lets out a soft laugh, “you’re quite the romantic. Reading poetry at midnight beneath the moonlight. It’s quite alright, thought, I enjoyed that book as well,” there’s nothing but silence between them. Harry pretends to read while he’s actually playing with a button on his sleeve.

            “You’re leaving tomorrow,” says Harry after more seconds, maybe even minutes, filled with silence. This isn’t something Zayn expected Harry to say. It puts him off a bit, so he just nods.

            “I’m coming back in March. Maybe you can survive three months without missing me too much. Well, you will miss me anyway,” Zayn tries to lighten the mood a bit. Harry seems too serious and deep in his thoughts. His eyebrows furrowed, eyes distant and unfocused.

            Harry finally lifts up his gaze from the book and raises his eyebrows, “Miss you? You’re getting a bit too confident here. I won’t miss you at all. In fact, I’m happy to finally spend some time without you,” Harry shuts his book and stares at Zayn. There’s an almost invisible smile pulling at the left corner of his lips and his eyes are closer to their usual glow.

            “Great. I will not miss you as well. Actually, I won’t even think of you,” Harry finally fully smiles, dimples poking out on his cheeks.

            “Alright,” Harry sighs theatrically, “I will miss you a tiny bit. Maybe I’ll even write you a letter. Emphasis on maybe.”

            “Fine. _Maybe_ I’ll look forward to that letter of yours,” Zayn grabs a book he sees on the ground and starts flipping through it, pretending to ignore Harry’s stare, “perhaps I’ll miss you too,” Zayn says softly, his voice quiet in the expanse of the library. Harry’s back to reading his poetry then, but Zayn doesn’t miss the small smile dancing on his lips.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Can we be friends again?” Harry whispers next to Zayn’s ear, his chin comfortably settled on Zayn’s shoulder. Zayn smiles into Harry’s neck.  
> “We never stopped being them in the first place.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay soooo.... here's chapter 2!! It's about two times as long as the first one, so I hope you all like it :) Enjoy!

            Zayn comes back to London on March 12th. To his surprise, the weather is quite lovely, the day a complete opposite of when he arrived in London almost two years ago. This time, he doesn’t have to wander around the Institute, because almost everyone’s waiting for him in the dining room. He greets them, hugs them all really right. Even Jessamine makes the effort to welcome him. To be completely honest, Zayn really missed them. Spending time with his family and friends in Paris was amazing, but he’d be lying if he hadn’t wished sometimes that Jem, Will and even Harry were with him there. They all have grown really close to his heart in the year and half he had lived with them. The residents of the London Institute are sort of like his second family.

            While he was at home, Zayn thought about Jem a lot. Coming to terms with your best friend slowly dying right in front of your eyes isn’t an easy realization to make. When Zayn’s in London, Jem right there with him, he tries not to think about it. Jem had changed a lot, not just with appearance. That certainly was a shocking change, though. When Zayn first came to the Institute, Jem’s hair had been streaked with silver, his eyes as well. Both his irises and hair are now almost completely changed from its original black to bright gray-ish colour. It’s hard not to think and worry about Jem’s condition when’s he’s having an especially bad day. There have been a few of them. Days when Jem’s skin looks ghostly and he can barely lift himself up from his bed. That’s when he has to take a bigger dose of yin fen. It’s painful to see, such a young person experiencing a torment like that. The worst thing about it all is that there’s no cure anyone knows of. Charlotte has written every powerful warlock she could reach, always ending up with no fruitful results.

            When Zayn was celebrating his birthday, he’s seen people do all kinds of drugs and the next few days, it made him think about Jem a lot. It was really upsetting to see people do things for entertainment and just because they “enjoy” it. Jem’s dying because of it, and he has to take yin fen against his will and there are people and Downworlders who do it for fun? People who are perfectly healthy are risking ruining their lives for a few hours of euphoria. It hurts Zayn to see how unfair it is that Jem doesn’t get to live his life the way he deserves and the means that got him his illness still exits, a threat that can ruin the lives of so many people. Jem isn’t planning too far into his future. He’s fourteen and already prepared for his own death. At a time when his main trouble should be training and slowly preparing to be an adult, Jem worries about not exhausting himself too much and dreading days, when he can’t even walk. Boys his age are careless, free while Jem is cautious and vigilant. Jem’s not going to be here in a few years and Zayn doesn’t have any idea how he’s going to deal with it. So far, Jem is dealing with his own imminent death the best out of everyone he knows.

            Will is perhaps the only person that doesn’t think about Jem’s limited lifetime. About a half a year ago, he asked Jem to become his parabatai. Jem rejected his offer as he was confident Will deserved a better parabatai, one that would stand by his side for the rest of his life. The few years Jem could offer Will weren’t enough in his opinion. But Will insisted. Jem eventually asked Zayn if he was alright with Jem becoming parabatai with Will. Zayn and Jem were best friends after all, and even though they never seriously considered becoming parabatai, it was at least polite to ask. Becoming someone’s parabatai was never a desire of Zayn’s anyway. He thinks it’s too much responsibility, being bound to someone with an oath which contains too much magic for his liking. Zayn encouraged Jem to do it, of course he did. Jem and Will were best friends just like Zayn and Jem are, and denying your best friend becoming parabatai with someone other than yourself should be against the Law since it’s basically barbarous. Zayn’s a bit upset about missing the ceremony, though, since it happened while he was at home.

            On a more positive note, he did get a letter from Harry. In fact, not only one, but two. The first one came shortly after Zayn’s birthday. When he opened it during breakfast one morning, Zayn thought Charlotte had written it. Harry’s big swirly signature in left bottom corner proved him wrong. The letter wasn’t very long, just a thank you for the Christmas present (a book of poems, which Harry said he finished reading in a record time, implying he really liked it) and a birthday wish. Zayn had a big smile plastered on his face for the rest of the day. He didn’t really think Harry would send a letter, despite Harry saying so. It was certainly a nice (not really) surprise. Zayn waited for a bit before replying, so he could wish Harry a happy birthday as well, since it’s on 1st of February, without being too early.

            The next one came a little over a week before Zayn was supposed to leave for England. Seeing this one was from Harry as well was sort of unbelievable for Zayn. Is their friendship important enough for Harry to send two letters? It certainly seems to be. This letter was a bit longer, since Harry wrote about how things were going at the Institute- Henry blowing up one of his inventions, Charlotte worrying about them all, Will and Jem being insufferable as always. There was a paragraph about Will and Jem’s parabatai ceremony, which Harry described as really powerful experience, even despite him not actually participating. Harry mainly complained about not having anyone to properly train with, but he didn’t specifically say he missed Zayn and was desperately waiting for him to come back. It was very subtle, but still, Zayn did see through Harry’s nonchalance.

            Since Zayn arrived back to the Institute in the morning, after he unpacks some of his luggage, his day goes on like any other did before he went home. He and the boys have a lesson with Charlotte and a training session after that. When Will asks Jessamine not to come with them this time, Zayn gets a little suspicious.

            “Why did you send Jessamine away? She’s always here with us,” Zayn asks Will as he grabs a sword off the wall.

            “You don’t need that today,” Will smirks and sits on the ground with his legs outstretched in front of him, “come and sit down, gentlemen. Zayn’s got some stories to share with us,” Zayn looks at him, confused. Jem has a straight face, sighs and sits down next to will. Harry doesn’t look like he’s much wiser about this situation than Zayn is.

            “I do? I’m not aware of anything I meant to tell you all,” Zayn puts the sword back to its place and sits down despite not knowing what’s going on.

            “Yes, of course you do. We all want to hear about your birthday celebrations. London is extremely boring, and the only girls around here are Jessamine and Tatiana Lightwood, which isn’t much of a win,” Will looks more excited than Zayn has ever seen him before. His smirk looks almost not at all sarcastic.

            “I would really appreciate it, if you stopped talking about my sister as if she were a whore, thank you very much,” Harry says and makes himself comfortable on the wooden floor, his long, long legs reaching far in front him.

            “My apologies,” Will says offhandedly, “well, Zayn, you can start. You’re the only one of us that isn’t a Shadowhunter monk. I’ve been dying to hear the tales of your Parisian birthday adventures. Let us hear the stories of debauchery and lust.”

            “How do you even know I didn’t just sit by the fireplace with my family, my parents reminiscing of my early years and pinching my cheeks all evening, moaning about how grown up I am already?” Zayn gets a bit flushed, redness surely creeping up on his cheeks. Will is right, of course. Zayn’s birthday was an _event._ It all started with a party at his house. Adults were there as well, so nothing boisterous happened during this. There was this one girl, though, Beatrice. Zayn’s had a crush on her for _years_. She’s a year older than him, and for as long as he can remember, she’s always been the most gorgeous girl in the room. Last time he saw her, she was fourteen. Seeing her again when she’s almost seventeen was almost like seeing a different person. Beatrice looked like the most beautiful heroine from a novel, but even more stunning. She was standing tall in the drawing room, a bright smile on her face, blue-green eyes bright like two lighthouses. Her curls were half pinned up, the lower half spilling all over her pale shoulders, her decollete almost spilling over her dress. She looked like a dream and the most palpable human ever at the same time. In that moment, Zayn was convinced she had pure angel blood running through her veins.

            He spent almost the whole party talking to her. She’s got a lovely laugh and Zayn was doing everything he could to hear it again. Some of his older relatives were “quietly” complaining about Zayn ignoring them, but he didn’t care about them at all. Not when he had the attention of probably the most beautiful girl in all of France.

            Later, when his friend dragged him and some other people out into the night, she came along with them. They were skipping bars and clubs filled with intoxicated mundanes until the early morning hours, and Zayn clung to her all-night long. Soon, alcohol had started clouding both of their minds and they kissed, and kissed, and kissed. It was addicting, her soft plump lips sliding across his, their tongues meddling together. They were probably being very inappropriate, but they’re young and the kissing felt ecstatic, so they didn’t bother to stop. At the last place they went, their hands were roaming all over each other’s bodies and hair. Zayn remembers how good having his fingers tangled in her auburn curls felt and how much they reminded him of Harry’s chocolate ones, which is a rather weird thought to have while you’re passionately kissing a girl.

            “Stop trying to get yourself out of this. You’re boring, but we all know you’ve got a wild side. And it got out, so tell us. How many girls did you charm with your romance-novel-hero looks?”

            “Fine, I’ll tell you,” Zayn sigs and retells the events of his birthday celebration. He doesn’t mention the terrible, terrible morning after when he woke up in his bed, still wearing the clothes from the night, threw up and put about three runes on himself to help with the headache. His mum’s speech about not drinking when he’s still so young, and his dad’s light chuckling while his mum was losing her mind goes unmentioned as well.

            “So, Beatrice. How did it end up with her? Are you courting her?” asks Will. Jem looks clearly uninterested beside him, never being the one to be keen on late nights outside indulging in illicit activities instead of hunting demons. Harry looks quite similar, his head bowed down, a curtain of hair covering his face. He’s playing with a blade, twirling it and balancing it on its tip.

            “No, my parents would never let me, not this young. But I couldn’t, even if they allowed it. I even considered staying in Paris for her, but she’s promised to someone else. It’s an arranged marriage. Although, we did spend quite some time with each other. The day after my birthday, I got a note from her, telling me to meet her that night near her house. We took a stroll by the river and kissed so much my mouth hurt. After that we spent almost every evening in each other’s company. We went to the theatre, parks, museums. It was wonderful. I felt myself slowly falling in love with her. Every single piece of me was yearning to see her when we weren’t together. And then, some days before I was supposed to leave for London, we spent the night together. I was surprised when Beatrice asked me to come upstairs with her, after I had walked her home. Fear was trying its best to consume me, because if her father had caught us, my ashes would’ve been in the Silent City right now. It sounds a bit surreal, but we made love that night. That’s the story,” Zayn finishes his monologue with a deep breath.

            As he thinks about it now, he’s not really heartbroken. It doesn’t hurt to think about her. He looks back on everything and he feels joyful, glad their short-lived romance even happened at all. All the feelings of all-consuming love must’ve been false. His time with Beatrice was beautiful, everything you could wish for as your first romance. It’s over now, but the memories will never be tainted by regret or hatred.

            “You’re trying to tell us you had an affair with someone who was engaged at the time?” Harry’s voice is a shock against the silent room. He’s finally lifted his head, his gaze piercing Zayn’s bubble of reminiscing.

            “I had no knowledge of her engagement. She told me about it in the morning after I had spent the night at her house. Also, please don’t ask me about any details about it. It’s a memory just for Beatrice and I to cherish.”

            “Oh, so you tell basically the whole Institute about your affair with her, and now you don’t want to share any details of how you slept together? How gallant,” Harry’s voice is cold and unforgiving. He’s staring at Zayn with ruthless eyes, making Zayn uncomfortable in his own skin.

            “No, I don’t want to share it, because it’s intimate. I’m not some nitwit, who goes around sleeping with girls, only because he wants to tell his friends and feel like a hero of sorts. Are you jealous, Harry? That’s why you’re acting like you’ve got a stick up your arse?” right after the words leave Zayn’s mouth, Harry’s face starts to get more and more red. He huffs out a breath and stand up, steps over all of their legs and heads straight for the door.

            When he opens them, he turns around and spits out: “I’m not jealous of you or anyone else. You Frenchmen behave like animals, what is there to envy? You’re a whore, Zayn,” Harry exits the room with a chorus of laughter from Will and Jem, leaving Zayn astonished and slightly offended.

°°

            After that incident, Zayn and Harry avoid each other. Not only for a week or two, but for _months_. Their very fragile friendship had fallen back to where it was in the beginning, only this time, Harry ignores Zayn instead of insulting him all the time. During lessons and training, they tolerate each other a bit, conversing only when absolutely necessary. Naturally, they don’t continue with their own secret training.

            The peculiar thing is, Harry has no reason to be mad at Zayn. He wasn’t the one who got called a whore. Zayn had no intention to be cross with Harry, he didn’t start ignoring and throwing dirty looks at Harry. He wasn’t even that offended by Harry’s nasty comment, there were certainly worse things he had called Zayn before. Provoking and insulting each other used to be a routine for them some time ago. Despite that, all the traces of their previous friendship were gone. Harry chose to pretend as if Zayn doesn’t even exist. And Zayn, since he’s stubborn and refused to beg for Harry’s forgiveness when there was nothing to be forgiven for, ignored Harry right back. It was Harry’s choice, he wanted this, so he may have it.

            For months and months, Zayn and Harry don’t spend even a second alone without the presence of someone else. They pass each other in the corridors like ghost, walking by as if they were strangers. No attempts to regain their lost friendship at all.

            One July morning, Charlotte calls them both to the drawing room. Zayn is skittish when he walks there, his heart anxiously beating against his ribcage. He plays with his family ring the whole way while he ponders the reasons for Charlotte to call him and Harry for a talk. Are they in trouble? Zayn is entirely sure he hasn’t done anything mischievous or rowdy lately. There was no fooling around with Harry for sure, since he hasn’t even properly spoken to him in months.

            When he enters the room, Harry and Charlotte are both already there. She’s sitting behind the massive desk, writing something with a quill. Harry’s lounging in an armchair near the fireplace, book in his hands and a phlegmatic look on his face. He seems like there is nothing in the entire world that could trouble him right now.

            Charlotte raises her head from the writing and gives Zayn a small smile, “Oh, you’re finally here. I’ve got very exciting news to share with you both. Take a seat, I’m just about to finish this letter.”

            Zayn moves to sit down in the armchair opposite the one Harry’s occupying. He props his feet up on the conference table, hoping Charlotte won’t notice and tell him off.

            “You’re sending him back home? Because that’s the only possible news exciting for the both of us,” says Harry without lifting his eyes from the book. He’s obviously not reading, using literature as a prop to appear as unconcerned and stoical as humanly possible.

            “No, Harry, Zayn’s not going anywhere until he wishes to,” Charlotte says calmly, clearly unperturbed by Harry’s remark, still writing. She’s scribbling for a few more moments until she sets the quills down and look at both of them.

            “Zayn, shoes off the table,” she says with a slight scowl, “you two are going on an investigation all by yourselves. I think you’re old enough to inspect a customary case of demon activity. Your training is certainly adequate for a routine night patrol.”

            “Charlotte! You can’t send me off to hunt demons with him!” Harry blurts out with a look of betrayal on his face. Zayn is certainly surprised, but he doesn’t want to join this discussion. Besides, he’s been wanting to go investigate a case of demon activity for months now. Harry’s company is absolutely going to be a nuisance, but it might be a chance for them to finally start talking again. Or an opportunity for a demon to kill them while they’re bickering, too engaged in their pointless feud.

            “I can and I will. Harry, you’re not a child anymore. This fight you two have going on since Zayn came back needs to come to an end,” Harry scoffs and throws himself further into the armchair. The book is now lying shut on the table. Harry’s staring up at the ceiling, looking every bit like a petulant child. Zayn has never seen him look so much like Jessamine than in this very moment, “Besides, you both need to deal with real demons. Training is useful, but experience is the key to being a Shadowhunter.”

            “What if I don’t _want_ to be a Shadowhunter?” Harry blurts out. Silence takes over the room. The only audible sounds are the wood crackling in the fireplace and the steady ticking of the old grandfather clock. Zayn looks at Harry’s face, trying to initiate a silent conversation with their eyes. To his surprise, Harry’s gaze doesn’t escape Zayn’s. He looks Zayn straight in the eye, face unreadable, motionless. In that moment, Harry’s features have the lifeless look of a statue.

            Zayn recalls the conversation they had in the training room over a year ago. When Harry revealed his gentle sensitive side that completely changed Zayn’s perspective of him. When he cried, because of the fear that his passion for Shadowhunting would make his sister despise him. When he showed his worry for his Jessamine’s future and his longing to become a better Shadowhunter. Has that changed? Does Harry detest the life of chasing shadows and killing demons just like Jessamine?

            Charlotte takes a deep breath and closes her eyes for a second, “Just try it, Harry. I’m aware that Jessie can’t wait to leave this place, but I _know_ you don’t hate this the way she does. Please, just try it this one night and if you hate it, I will never ask you to go again,” she looks at Harry, her eyes pleading. Harry avoids her gaze and twirls the rings on his fingers for quite a moment before he mutters an almost silent “Alright, I’ll go.”

            “Thank you, Harry. Now, I’m going to give you the address you’ll visit tonight and all the instruction,” Charlotte pulls out a map and starts talking about a lot of things, they both have heard a million times before, but Zayn isn’t really listening. His mind is too busy, his thoughts packed with overthinking everything Harry said here. They haven’t held a normal conversation in months and Zayn’s aching with the longing to just finally talk to Harry. He needs to know why Harry feels this way about Shadowhunting again, needs to know if there’s something grieving him. Friendship wasn’t the term one would use to describe their relationship in the past months, but it doubtlessly was before. Tonight may be the night for bringing that friendship back.

            Right after Charlotte was done explain them what to do and showing the place where they’re supposed to go on a map, Harry was out of the door as fast as wind, giving Zayn no chance to initiate a conversation or small talk. For the rest of the day, Zayn had tried to find and talk to Harry multiple times, but Harry avoided him like vampires avoid crosses.

            Zayn finally saw him at dinner, Harry carefully picking the seat farthest away from Zayn. After the meal, Harry hurriedly stood up, his chair scraping the floor and bolted for the door. Zayn followed his actions and caught up with Harry just outside the door. He grabbed Harry’s sleeve in an attempt to hold him back. Harry stopped, but immediately tried to jerk his arm out of Zayn’s grip.

            “Harry, please wait. I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all day. We need to talk before tonight,” when Zayn saw Harry wasn’t going anywhere, he released his wrist. Harry snatched his arm back, taking a step away from him.

            “I don’t want to talk to you. I’m leaving now, I need to get ready,” Harry spun on his heel and started to swiftly climb up the stairs. Soon enough he disappeared out of Zayn’s sight. He was just standing there, watching Harry walk away. If Harry’s going to be like this the whole night, they might as well go without anyway armour or weapons, since they will both get killed by demons because of negligence.

            Instead of moping around, Zayn does practical things – goes to his bedroom to change into armour and to the weapon room to get armament. At precisely 10 o’clock in the evening, he’s standing on the Institute steps, waiting for Harry to come outside. Zayn’s leisurely drawing runes on himself, when the door opens and Harry steps into the warm summer air.

            “Where’s the carriage?” Harry asks, adjusting his weapon belt.

            “Do you not know where we’re going? The warehouse is about a ten-minute walk away from here. We can surely make it without a carriage,” Zayn puts his stele away and rolls down his sleeves. Harry’s standing at the top of the steps, looking very much unimpressed as usual. Zayn walks down to the gravel and when he doesn’t hear Harry’s footsteps following him, he turns around and looks at Harry with raised eyebrows, a clear question hanging right on his face. Harry sighs, rolls his eyes and eventually follows Zayn down the steps. They walk away in silence for a few minutes, Harry’s boots echoing in the silent street.

            “Put a soundless rune on. Your footsteps can be heard from tens of meters away,” Zayn says.

            “Don’t tell me what to do.”

            “If you want to die tonight, alright, it’s not a worry of mine. But I’d rather you do it when I’m not in your company, when a demon or a Downworlder might kill me as well,” Zayn hears Harry scoff beside him, but he stops and draws the rune on anyway.

            They walk through silent dark London until they reach a warehouse near a street that’s busy during the day, but peaceful at night. It looks completely abandoned, as Zayn had assumed. There are large windows set in exposed brick walls, most of them filthy or painted not to let the sunlight in. A big metal door is standing tall right in front of them. Without any word, Zayn tries the handle. Surprisingly, the door isn’t locked. He pulls out his witchlight stone, the bright white glow illuminating the shadowy space behind the door, and takes a few steps further into the darkness. Even without looking behind him, he senses Harry following him.

            Inside the building is a wide, open space. The two windows supposed to brighten this room are all painted, so the only light is coming from their witchlight stones. Everything is dusty, the concrete floor littered with grime and corners overflowing with spider webs. There’s a spiral staircase in the back, left corner. Six metal columns and some beams are supporting the weight of the second floor, but that’s all there is in the room. Not even a single box or a piece of furniture. Zayn takes out a seraph blade and walks into the middle of the room, inspecting the space for any pentagrams or other objects used to summon demons.

            “There’s nothing on this floor. Did you find anything?” Zayn asks Harry. He’s walking around with his witchlight and a seraph blade, inspecting spider webs, not answering Zayn’s question, “Harry?” he tries again.

            “No,” Harry mutters offhandedly. Zayn closes his eyes for a second, trying not to fall into Harry’s trap. They’re not going to do this, not here and not now.

            “Harry, we need to talk to each other. At least tonight. I’m begging you, just don’t ignore me when there could be demons lurking behind our backs,” Harry lowers his witchlight and starts walking towards the staircase.

            “Alright,” he responds, his voice muffled by the creaking of the metal stairs, “now come upstairs. There’s nothing here in this room, except for filth,” Harry quickly gets up the stairs, disappearing on the second floor. Zayn climbs up the staircase as well, finding himself in a corridor with four sets of doors. High up on the wall, near the ceiling, is a line of quite small windows. The first three are broken, all the glass gone, so they’re letting moonlight seep inside and illuminate the space. All the other ones are painted with black pain, resulting in darkness in the better part of the corridor.

            Two of the doors are open, the 3rd and 4th ones. Assuming Harry went to one of them, Zayn goes to check the 3rd one. He finds Harry inspecting some animal corpses on a desk with his back turned to the door. The room seems to be an office no longer in use. There’s one wide window overlooking the street in front of the building. The left and right wall are lined with bookcases and drawers. Said desk is sitting close to the window in between the walls. Something that definitely isn’t a piece of office furniture, but rather a pentagram drawn on the floor with white chalk is taking up most of the floor.

            “It stinks like sulphur in here,” Zayn remarks and walks further into the room, “the summoning was most likely successful. Do you think the demon is still here?” he walks around the desk and stands where a chair is supposed to be. There’s quite a lot of things on the top. Animals corpses, chalk, bowls, herbs, a paper with something in an ancient language scribbled on it.

            “No. All of this doesn’t look very amateur. Whoever did this probably knew enough to send the demon back as well,” Harry takes the paper and starts to read it. A small line appears between his eyebrows, a sign of Harry’s concentration. There’s a ray of moonlight illuminating his face, making the green of his eyes seems lighter and somehow speckled with gold. It’s quite fascinating, really. Zayn looks away from Harry’s face and shakes his head a bit. He’s getting distracted. While looking around the room, he sees a figure lurking behind a thick bookcase. There’s a flash of bright red eyes. It sees Zayn slowly trying to move from behind the desk, so it lurches out of the shadow, trying to jump at Harry who’s facing it with his back.

            “Harry, watch out!” Zayn shouts as he stabs the demon in its chest with a seraph blade. A splash of black ichor rains down on them both as the Vetis demon dissipates, the echo of its shriek gone. They both stand there for a bit, motionless, too startled to say anything. After a few moments, Zayn takes a deep breath and wipes his seraph blade on the fabric covering his thigh.

            “Oh God, what was that?” Harry nearly whispers, his voice shaky. He didn’t turn around to see the demon, still facing the grimy window. There’s ichor on his neck and he’s gripping the edge of the table so hard his knuckles are nearly white.

            “A Vetis demon. Well, he certainly wasn’t sent back,” Zayn says, wiping ichor off his hands, “are you alright?”

            “Physically, I am I suppose. But no, I’m not alright, not at all. I could’ve been dead right now,” Harry looks at Zayn with wide eyes.

            “Harry, you wouldn’t have been dead. Well, you would’ve been injured, but not dead,” he comes closer to Harry, and reaches for his neck with his fingers. Harry’s gaze is closely following the movement of Zayn’s hand. He flitches a little bit when Zayn starts to wipe down the ichor from his skin. It’s hot, most likely because of the acidity of ichor. Harry’s in shock, so he didn’t realize it was burning his skin. They’re both going to need an iratze for the burns.

            “Remember how you once told me during training, that I wouldn’t be able to argue my way out of a demon attack? And that you wouldn’t be there to save me?” Harry breaths out. His eyes are still fixed on the back of Zayn’s hand, which is now resting on his left shoulder.

            “Yes, I do,” Zayn says quietly.

            “Well, I didn’t argue my way out of this. And you’re right here. And you saved me. So, thank you for saving my life,” Harry finally looks at Zayn, his green eyes illuminated by the moonlight once again. They’re standing so close Zayn can see little speckles of darker colours in Harry’s irises. Their chests are almost touching and Harry’s hot breath is reaching Zayn’s cheek.

            “You’re very much welcome,” Zayn says, hastily takes his hand off Harry’s shoulder and steps a bit back, suddenly realizing the too close proximity of their bodies. Silence takes over the room as they go back to examining the objects on the desk. Zayn reads the paper Harry was holding before the demon attacked them, finding out it’s only a basic demon summoning spell.

            “I’d like to apologize to you,” Harry says suddenly. Zayn lifts up his gaze from a rotting corpse of a raven and looks at Harry’s face. He’s not avoiding Zayn’s gaze, his face honest, but not revealing too much about his emotions.

            “What for?”

            “A lot of things. Being rude to you. Ignoring you for months. Calling you a whore,” Zayn chuckles at that, Harry’s lips curling into a smile as well, “you didn’t deserve me to treat you like that. Sometimes I am too…. pretentious and stubborn. After a week, I realized what I was doing had no reason. But it was already too late, because you had started ignoring me as well. So, I just carried on pretending like you weren’t there most of the time. I’m really sorry.”

            “Apology accepted,” Zayn smiles, trying to cheer Harry up a bit. This is not the time or place for being melancholic. Zayn's not trying to hold a grudge. Harry's already ignored him for months, Zayn doing it this time would be pointless. 

            “Do you mean it?” Harry asks hesitantly.

            “Yes, of course I mean it,” Zayn laughs, “come here,” he opens his arms, steps forward and hugs Harry. Zayn puts his chin on his shoulder and wraps his arms tight around Harry’s middle. Harry’s reluctant for a second, before he does the same.

            “Can we be friends again?” Harry whispers next to Zayn’s ear, his chin comfortably settled on Zayn’s shoulder. Zayn smiles into Harry’s neck.

            “We never stopped being them in the first place.”

°°

            About two weeks after that night, Harry asked Zayn if he wants to start training together again. He found Zayn one afternoon in the library, at first seeming only wondering what book is Zayn reading. He told Harry the title, and continued to read. Harry had no other questions about the story, just sat at the table and tapped out a melody with his fingers on the wooden surface. Some minutes passed and Zayn was starting to get suspicious.

            “Harry, why are you here?” Zayn asks, putting a bookmark where he stopped reading and shuts the book closed.

            “I wanted to ask you something,” Harry is still tapping his fingers into the wood when he says it, “I was wondering if you would want to start training again, just the two of us. Well, if you don’t want to, it’s fine I suppose. But I really enjoyed it? And I miss it. A lot. It’s your time so of course, if you don’t want to spend it with me, I’ll just- “

            He’s starting to ramble, so Zayn jumped into his speech, “Harry, it’s fine. I want to. Spending time with you isn’t a bother,” Harry looks at him, hesitation flashing on his face.

            “Are you sure?” he asks.

            “Yes, absolutely. It’s not as if I were doing something more entertaining with my time. Besides, you’re not the worst company around here,”

            “Very well then. Can we meet tonight before dinner?”

            They do meet that evening, and almost every single one for months. Training together without Will and Jem becomes a routine part of their days again. Charlotte obviously notice it, since she starts to send them alone to investigate cases at least once a week. That part is especially exciting. Their nights are now occasionally filled with demons, rogue vampires and werewolves, but mostly with walking around pretty London locations.

            Both Zayn and Harry are hopeless romantics, neither of them want to admit it, though. The number of novels and poetry they read does the talking. So far, they have seen about six sunrises by the Thames, spent countless hours just wandering through the sleeping streets and parks, and _visited_ the National Gallery at midnight. Harry definitely didn’t think it was visiting.

            _“You’re a lunatic. We’re going to get arrested for this. It’s the bloody National Gallery, there must be dozens of guards!”_

_“If you haven’t forgotten, we’re Shadowhunters, Harry. Glamour prevents mundanes from seeing us. Everything will be alright.”_

_“You’re a menace. I’ve got no clue why I even go along with your berserk ideas.”_

            (They didn’t get caught. Harry eventually enjoyed it very much, but still insisted it was a terrible, terrible plan.)

            In addition to their night time adventures, Zayn and Harry visited places all over London. Zayn was getting bored in the Institute, suddenly missing the Parisian lifestyle of glamour and lavishness. He was very well aware that he was basically whining about wanting to go see a play or a visit a museum. There weren’t any parties, really. Well, not those that the residents of the Institute were invited to anyway. Downworlders don’t want Shadowhunters at any of their parties and opium dens and gentlemen clubs aren’t exactly the place Zayn would want to visit. Mundanes throw the kind of parties Zayn is used to, but unfortunately, he knows no mundanes here in London.  

            Harry came up with an idea to go and do not-so-Shadowhunter-activities twice a week. So, they visit museums, theatres and culturally nourish themselves. Jessamine often joins them, usually for the plays. Jem and Will accompany them to some places as well. They even visit the National Museum during opening hours.

             Summer and fall pass by in a medley of demon investigation and day trips around London. Winter goes on in a similar fashion, only with less time spent outside because of the cold. Days get shorter and shorter and with elongated nights comes Christmas. This year, Zayn decided to stay in London during the holidays and for his birthday. He wants to spend at least two weeks in the south, so he’ll go home in June. Spending the summer again in London, where is no sea or beaches is too dreadful for Zayn to even think about it. The journey to France is too long to take twice a year anyway.

            Christmas in the Institute means the Enclave’s annual Christmas party. The week before Christmas Eve is pretty chaotic. The ballroom needs to be decorated, dozens of invites to be sent out, a massive tree to be decorated. Everyone is involved in one way or another. All of it is worth it in the end. The Institute look more like home, with mistletoe hanging over the thresholds and wreaths decorating walls, windows and doors. It’s the perfect picture of Christmas.

            The party starts in the evening, all of the London Shadowhunters coming together for a bit of dancing, Christmas food and sweets, and gossip. Definitely gossip as well. Zayn is pretty excited for the party. He hasn’t met a lot of Shadowhunters in London who don’t live in the Institute, save for his extended family. Will warned him about the Lightwoods, though. Said they’re the most unpleasant people he’s met in the fourteen years he’s been walking the Earth.

            Zayn comes to the ballroom once the party is in full swing. It looks marvellous, the Christmas tree dominating the rest of the decorations. The smell of delicious food and winter drinks tricking you into thinking you are home. He dances for some time, hovers around the buffet table with Will and Jem, but fails to find Harry for hours. He seemed to be alright all day. Has he gotten ill suddenly? Zayn notices Jessamine, who’s standing by a window with some girl.

            “Have you seen Harry tonight?” Zayn asks Jessamine, when he comes to her. If anyone knows what’s going on with Harry, it’s Jessie.

            “Not at the party, no,” she responds and immediately goes back to her conversation. Zayn is curious and a bit worried, so he decides to go and find Harry. No one really pays attention to him slipping out of the ballroom into the hall.

            Zayn’s first stop is Harry’s bedroom. No one seems to be upstairs, not a sound coming from anywhere, only the muffled music from downstairs being audible in the long corridor. He brings his hand up in a fist and knocks. No answer. Zayn tries again a few times, getting no response at all. He doesn’t hear anything coming from inside. Coming into Harry’s room uninvited would be rude, so Zayn moves on to the library. It’s a place where Harry goes quite often, mostly in the evenings. Also, if he wanted to hide during a party, it would be there, since no one goes upstairs and his bedroom is an obvious place everyone would look in for him.

            Zayn opens the door and there’s a view in front of him that he’s arrived to many times before – Harry perched by the window with a book in his hand or a thoughtful look on his face, while he’s watching the courtyard and the street below. This time it’s the latter. Harry’s sitting on the bench in a suit, his knees pulled in. He’s got his hands up to his mouth and is biting on his knuckle – something Zayn’s noticed Harry does when he’s nervous or upset. Zayn comes closer to Harry, walking almost soundlessly. Harry doesn’t notice him until Zayn puts a hand softly on his shoulder and quietly says his name. He whips his head around, his eyes wide but not really frightened. From this close proximity, Zayn can see the tears steaks on Harry’s cheeks, his eyes still wet and filled with tears. Harry catches Zayn staring and quickly wipes his face with his palms.

            “Why are you here?” Harry asks and tries to hide his face from Zayn.

            “I’ve been looking for you all evening,” Zayn says and takes a seat on the bench, sitting down by Harry’s shoes, “are you alright?” he asks, his voice quiet. Harry is silent, with his head bowed the curls are making a curtain around his face. None of them speak for a long time. Zayn sits there, watching Harry play with his family ring. After he gets possibly bored with the ring, Harry lifts his head up and takes a deep breath. He still avoids Zayn’s eyes, but looks a lot more receptive and less closed off.

            “I hate this,” he says, “I hate all of this. The bloody party, the music, all of it,” Harry finally looks at Zayn. He just nods, not wanting to interrupt in case Harry wants to get more things off his chest.

            “It’s making me think about my parents,” Harry admits after a while, “the Christmas before…. before they passed away, they took me to a winter ball. I was so thrilled to go. The night was fabulous. My parents introduced me to so many people, and all of them were telling how much I had grown up already, that sooner than later they’re going to be attending my wedding. I danced with so many girls and tried to charm my way around older ladies. Papa said he was proud of me, that I was a proper gentleman now. We came home well past my bedtime and Jessie was so cross with me, because she didn’t get to go with us, she wouldn’t speak to me for a few days,” they botch chuckle at that bit. There are tears slowly rolling down Harry’s face again, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Zayn gets a sudden urge to hold Harry’s hand, so he does. He gets a surprised look from Harry, so he just starts rub the back of Harry’s hand with his thumb. Harry doesn’t say anything to that, grips Zayn’s hand stronger and continues, “they we both so happy that night, I had never seen them smile so much before. They danced together a lot and were so fond of each other. But there was this music, it was beautiful and it sounded just like the one that’s playing downstairs. I couldn’t get the resemblance out of my head and all of these memories came back. I can’t go down there. I just- I can’t,” Harry’s voice is almost entirely silent when he says the last sentence. He’s holding onto Zayn’s hand for dear life, eyes distantly looking at their interlocked fingers.

            “It’s alright. You don’t have to,” Zayn gives Harry’s hand a reassuring squeeze.

            “Why are you pretending to care about me?” Harry says abruptly. His eyes are set on Zayn’s face, a sudden look of anguish in his eyes. Zayn’s lost for words. He tries to say something, anything, but nothing comes out and he’s left hanging like a fool. Harry wriggles his hand out of Zayn’s grip, the heat of it suddenly gone.

            “I know you hate me. I don’t need your fictitious concern.”

            “Is that how you feel about me?” Zayn finds his words after all, “after all the time we’ve spent together? Why do you think I would train and run around London for months with you if I hated you?”

            “I don’t know!” Harry cried out, “maybe you are pitying me.”

            “Pitying you?” Zayn scoffs.

            “Yes! Just like every single person has ever since my parents had died! All of you just try to be nice to me, because I am an orphan,”

            “Harry, I don’t care about you because your parents are dead. I care about you because you are my friend. I’ve grown to rather like you very much over the time,” Zayn tries to take his hand again, but Harry just leans further away from him.

            He looks at Zayn and shakes his head softly, “you can’t mean it,” in that moment, Harry looks just broken. A boy who lost his parents, now haunted by paranoid distrust of everyone’s false kindness.

            “I do mean it,” Zayn says simply. Harry’s motionless, evidently in a deep session of overthinking.

            “But why?” Harry lifts his gaze up, finding Zayn’s eyes, “I’ve been horrible to you for _so long_. How can you like me?”

            “I’ve learned your… eccentric ways over the time. It is true, you are mean, sometimes even vicious. But you’re a very good friend to me, even if you don’t believe it yourself,” Harry chuckles, his eyes set on his hands, which are now resting on his knees, “now, I’ve got an idea. We should go out.”

            “What? Why?” Harry’s got his brows furrowed, an obvious look of confusion on his face.

            “We’re both dressed up, it would be a shame not to take advantage of it. I like that shirt of yours, it looks like something Magnus Bane would wear, but it’s charming. If you were a girl, I would say you look pretty,” Harry lifts the bow on the neckline of his magenta silk shirt, a small smile playing on his lips.

            “You don’t look too bad yourself,” Harry smirks, “alright then, let’s go. Lead the way, mister.”

            They take a quick detour to their rooms for their coats and gloves, agreeing on meeting in a few minutes outside the Institute. Zayn’s there first, waiting for a few minutes in the snow before Harry skips down the steps to meet him.

            “You’re not wearing a top hat,” Harry says instead of a hello.

            “You’re not wearing one either,” Zayn remarks.

            “No. My hair’s a better accessory than a top hat. They always just mush my curls down. Anyway, where are we going?” they have walked out of the Institute gate, their shoes leaving footprints in the snow that has fallen down after all the guest arrived.

            “I don’t know. Let’s go to the National Gallery again. It’s just a twenty-minute walk. We can take the route by the river. I want to do something exciting tonight.”

            “Fine, but if we get caught this time, you’re a dead man,” Harry threatens.

            “I’ll keep that in mind,” Zayn chuckles. They walk in silence until they reach the embankment. It had started to snow a few minutes ago, so they’re now sprinkled with light snowflakes, most of them melting right away.

            “Stop for a minute,” Harry says when they’re on a sidewalk overlooking the Thames, “look how beautiful the moon is tonight. God, I wish I was better at writing poetry, not just reading it. It’s so lovely tonight I could write a hundred sonnets,” he’s looking up on the sky, snowflakes getting caught in his hair and eyelashes. It’s a full moon tonight so everything is illuminated enough just to see in the darkness. The light brightens Harry’s eyes the way it did in the warehouse during their first demon investigation. Harry’s got a soft smile on his lips and Zayn notices Harry’s beauty. His soft features are getting sharper each year, but Zayn can still sense the sort of elegance on him that he’s seen on many girls, or maybe even other boys. It’s quite strange to think about his friend in that way, a boy should only admire girls like that. Well, Zayn had always thought beauty is just like art – it comes in countless of forms and all of it should be appreciated. So, he’s just basically appreciating art.

            Zayn suddenly realizes how fond he is of Harry. It’s not in quite the same way he cares for Jem and Will. The reason behind it is most likely all the time he has spent with Harry. They have trained together for hours, killed quite a lot of demons and walked around London ten times over. Maybe Zayn should really consider asking Harry to become his parabatai. They’re doing all the things parabatai do, just without the runes to validate it.

            “Oh, you’re such a romantic, Harry. When we get frostbite standing around here, you’re not going to want to whisk poetry about it,” Zayn gently grabs Harry’s wrist in an attempt to continue walking to the National Gallery.

            “I wasn’t the one who suggested taking a stroll by the river,” Harry remarks, but starts to walk beside Zayn. When none of them make a move to get their hands away from each other, it stays that way. Not a single world is said about how their fingers _somehow_ get tangled together, their gloved hands joined until they reach the Gallery.

            “I don’t want to go there. We’ve walked all over the place not even two months ago. There aren’t even any new exhibitions,” Harry says when Zayn’s crouching by the door handle and drawing an opening rune on the lock. He turns around and glares at Harry.

            “What? Why are you looking at me like that?” Harry crosses his arm and stares back. There’s something quite endearing about the way snowflakes are heaping on his curls before melting away.

            “We walked all the way here in the snow and you’re saying this now?”

            “Oh, would you stop moaning about it? You’ve got a warming rune.”

            “I do, but there’s snow all over me,” Zayn stands up and tucks his stele away. He runs a gloved hand through his hair, his boots crunching in the snow as he walks over to Harry and looks over Trafalgar Square.

            “You’re such a whiny tart. Let’s go get drunk. Do you know a place?” Harry gently nudges Zayn with his elbow. When Zayn doesn’t respond, Harry tries again and again, until Zayn finally starts laughing and smoothly interlocks his arm with Harry’s.

            “You’re a menace. I loathe you,” Zayn says with a smile. They start walking down the steps, Zayn leading the way to a tavern nearby. It’s a decent place, occupied mostly by Downworlders, with an accidental Shadowhunter here or there.

            “I know you adore me,” Harry sing-songs, “you probably write poetry about me in the middle of the night by the glow of the moon.”

            “Of course, and Thomas is a three-headed dragon,” Harry pokes Zayn’s ribs with his elbow and they both burst into laughing.

            It takes them not even five more minutes to get to the tavern. It’s hidden from mundanes by glamour, so a regular passer-by would think they were walking into an old empty store. In reality, when they open the door, they’re greeted with loud music and overwhelming heat compared to the temperature outside. It’s a two-storey tavern, with a bar, dancing floor and lots of small and big round tables all around the floor. They’re interrupted by wooden pillars with lanterns, which are illuminating the whole place with soft orange glow. The chairs are occupied by all kinds of creatures – warlocks, werewolves, vampires and even fairies and Shadowhunters. There are tails, fangs, talons, animal ears and beaks. But there’s a lot of beer and gin, so everyone is everyone’s friend this night.

            They don’t stop amidst the chaos of dancing bodies and drunk patrons and make their way up the flimsy spiral staircase. The second floor is smaller, one wall being replaced with a railing and a view downstairs. It’s less crowded with both tables and bodies. Dimmer lights and a candle on each table are creating almost an intimate atmosphere. Zayn and Harry pick a table near the railing, so they could see what’s going on downstairs. They sit down and finally get out of their damp coats. It’s not too long before a waitress with horns and purple skin comes to take their order – two bottles of wine and one of gin. It’s not the best combination, but they’re young, they’re allowed to make drinking mistakes.

            “If we drink all of that, tomorrow morning we’re gonna wish we were dead,” Zayn says when the waitress brings their drinks, but laughs and starts to drink anyway.

            “I’m ready to accept the consequences,” Harry announces with a determined look on his face before he _tries_ to drown a glass of red wine on one try. He spills a bit on his chin, but acts like absolutely nothing happened at all.

            They drink almost whole bottle of gin and a full bottle of wine, before Harry leans on his hand with a very sleepy look on his face and his eyes all glassy. The candle is making all kinds of shapes and shadow all over his head and hand.

            “You’ve never really told me what you were doing in Shanghai,” he slurs out drunkenly.

            “Well,” Zayn finishes his shot of gin, copies Harry’s not the most comfortable position on the table and looks back on his time in China, “there was the problem with demons. Like…it was really, really bad. They had a nest there and were all over the place. So, the Clave called someone to help the Carstairs. My parents are both fluent in Mandarin, so they decided to go and took me with them. We spent there a few months and everyone thought it was all good, so we left before…. you know what happened next.”

            “Yes,” Harry mumbles, “could I sleep on your shoulder? I’m tired and the Institute is waaaaay too far away,” he gestures the distance with his hands, his right one nearly knocking down a bottle of wine. Harry starts to giggle, his nose crouching and dimples popping up on his cheeks. It’s just the drunken haze, but Zayn thinks he looks adorable.

            “Sure. Just don’t droll on my jacket,” Harry gives Zayn a smile, sits to the chair closer to Zayn and moves it right next to Zayn’s chair. He stumbles a bit, the chair leaning and almost falling down so Zayn grabs his wrist to keep Harry upright. Harry holds on to Zayn’s forearms, regains his balance and turns to Zayn, their hands still together.

            “How are you still saving me from falling on my arse?” Harry says quietly, his voice almost inaudible in the noisy tavern. He’s looking into Zayn’s eyes and seems rather calm despite his words sounding accusatory.

            “I’ve got no idea. You’re clumsy when you’re drunk,” silence falls upon then for some time. They’re too drunk to even talk, so they just stare at each other. Harry’s head is still not using Zayn’s shoulder as a pillow as Harry intended, and his fingers are wrapped around Zayn’s wrists. Zayn is rather enjoying the warmth around his wrists, some Harry’s calloused Shadowhunter fingertips making their way on his skin. This would be so strange if they were sober. It’s all the gin they’ve drunk tonight - making them both so touchy. Physical contact is very delightful when you’re inebriated.

            “Why are your lips so red?” Harry asks suddenly, his eyes set on Zayn’s mouth. He’s got his deep-thinking-face on, the crease between his eyebrows not missing from its place. Zayn can feel Harry’s hot liquor-y breath on his cheek, their faces suddenly much closer than a moment ago.

            “It’s probably the red wine,” Zayn looks down on Harry’s lips. They’re too very red. And plump. And glossy. He wonders if they would feel like Beatrice’s did. If they would slide across his, smoothly and softly. Or if they would feel rough, hitting his own with force and their teeth clashing together.

            “And what are these young Shadowhunters doing here in our shabby old tavern, when there’s a fancy party in the Institute happening right now?” says a voice next to them. Zayn and Harry suddenly whips their heads to the direction of the voice. There’s Magnus Bane, standing with his arms crossed next to their table, in all of his colourful glory. He’s smirking at them, his cat eyes glowing in the faint light.

            “Have you run away from the boring Nephilim to have a little rendezvous, lovers?” they both look at him for a second, confused.

            “Oh, by the Angel, no, no!” Zayn starts to laugh when his drunk brain finally understands what Magnus meant. Harry’s quiet and he silently removes his hands from Zayn’s wrists.

            “My apologies then. But you two looked quite loved up, I was worried I had interrupted a make out session,” Magnus sits down on an empty chair by their table and takes a drink from one of the glasses with red wine in it.

            “Oh God, it’s nothing like that. We’re just very, very intoxicated. And what brings _you_ here, Magnus? Where’s your charming Camille?” Harry suddenly stands up and grabs his coat from the back of his chair. Zayn gives him a confused look, but Harry’s ignoring his gaze. Without a word, he runs down the stairs and out in the street. Within seconds Zayn’s grabbing his own coat and takes his and Harry’s gloves from the table.

            “I apologize, but I have to go. Harry’s too drunk to be left alone round here. Have a great night, Magnus,” he just lifts his fingers as a goodbye, leaving a handful of blue sparkles in the air around. Zayn fleets down the stairs and makes his way through the dozens of drunk Downworlders as quickly as he could. When he steps outside, he finds nothing except for more snow and terribly cold air. The snow is on his side now, all the shoes leaving marks on the white sparkly surface. Thankfully, there’s not many footprints leading away from the tavern. He picks the ones that look the most the they could be Harry’s and starts to run where they’re headed.

            Zayn finds Harry behind the corner, stumbling in the snow and trying to keep his balance. He jogs to catch up with Harry and gives him his gloves. Harry turns his head, gives Zayn a very unimpressed look, grabs his gloves and goes back to ignoring everything around him.

            “Harry- “

            “Don’t talk to me. I’m too drunk. I just wanna go to my bed and sleep.”

            “Did you run away to throw up?”

            “No. I’m fine. Now leave me alone,” Zayn obliges Harry’s wishes and doesn’t try to engage him in a conversation. He doesn’t grab Harry to help him, but stays very close. Just in case Harry’s balance decides that the ground is a better place for Harry’s body.

            When they get to the Institute, the party has been over for some time. The whole place is quiet and all of the food is gone, so they just walk to their rooms. Harry mumbles a “Goodnight”, but nothing else beside that. He closes the door behind him and leaves Zayn outside, wondering why Harry ran away from the tavern like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well....that was chapter 2. The 3rd one should be here by the end of May, hopefully. I'm really busy, but I'll try to post it. If you have any questions or anything, you can find me @ imlivingonawire on Tumblr. I hope you liked it and you'll come back for the next chapter.
> 
> If you enjoyed this, please leave kudos and a comment. It makes me incredibly motivated to write more :)

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo, you've made it to the end of chapter 1! I hope you will be back for the other ones as well. If you liked it, please leave kudos and a comment. Thank you!  
> Next chapter should be published next week (hopefully).
> 
> You can find me on imlivingonawire @ Tumblr :)


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